And it makes me sad. And pathetic. I went back on Facebook two days ago. Because I was bored. And I saw that life has continued for everyone. They all are faring better with the same intensity of problems and neuroses and disappointments and delayed gratification. They live in the here-and-now. Kamal wrote such a nice email to me. Poor thing; he has no idea about me. But at least he took the time to try to help. Bless him.
I haven't showered in a week. My mum has not phoned me since Wednesday. She can go and ruddy clean other peoples houses and play with her frigging Montessori kids. And send me ruddy forwards. What kind of a mother is she? I can't even censure her because God says no. So what do I do? I keep going back to this perceived parental neglect.
I don't respect my dad. You know what he told me a few days ago? He said that I had been turned against him by everyone and that I have hatred in my eyes for him. That was quite perceptive for an ESTJ. And I am shit at hiding it any more. But it's not hate. It's just lack of affection and a sense of being abandoned when I needed him the most. And the fact that he hit my mother and that, yes, he has been made to look like a one-sided character in a B-movie plot. But then, what on Earth would have influenced me so much as to write in my Year 2 or Year 3 book that I disliked my father? I can't believe that my teacher didn't even bloody censor it. I've thrown almost everything out but have kept that for when I get my eureka moment.
But you see, there are two completely conflicting sides about what happened in the 11 years they were married. And I can't bloody sit them down in a room and ask them to tell me the truth. And I can't trust my memory, seeing as I have quite effectively repressed or denied all happenings. All I want to know is what happened, why it happened and how can I overcome this gaping sense of loss, this screaming hole in my being, the missing pieces of me that are making me feel like dying.
Sarah used the word epiphany last week. Although she misspelled it. I forgot to mention it. Another sign that I should stop underestimating her and prejudging her. I don't know jack about her or her life, anyway.
God, I feel so miserable and lonely. So lonely. I feel forsaken. I know God hasn't because I love him so much and He loves me more. In spite of the fact that I can't pray. I'm sure He loves me. I could not bear it if He were to forsake me. I'm crying right now. I can't read my books. I can't prepare food. I can't eat properly. I can't leave the house by myself. I can't feel contented or happy. I am doomed to a melancholic life; and it's too much to handle.
When I was younger, I could imagine myself all alone, in a house or flat, being happy by myself. And now? Hormones and reality have kicked in. I desperately need my husband, my lover, my soul. I need friends and they seem so far away or whatever. I need a sibling, who is dead. I need roots, which I have effectively chopped away, because they were quite shallow. I need a mother, who never was all I wanted or needed. And that takes up too much emotional effort to analyse, so I repress or deny. My dad blows hot and cold. He abandoned me for so long.
I want to possess but have nothing. I want security, but can't trust. I hate myself. What hope is there?
I am never going to be able to write anything of any consequence. Dennis and Punt are geniuses. Mitchell and Webb are great. Why are they all so smart and I so dumb? Bloody sanguines.
This is such a depressing post.
I haven't showered in a week. My mum has not phoned me since Wednesday. She can go and ruddy clean other peoples houses and play with her frigging Montessori kids. And send me ruddy forwards. What kind of a mother is she? I can't even censure her because God says no. So what do I do? I keep going back to this perceived parental neglect.
I don't respect my dad. You know what he told me a few days ago? He said that I had been turned against him by everyone and that I have hatred in my eyes for him. That was quite perceptive for an ESTJ. And I am shit at hiding it any more. But it's not hate. It's just lack of affection and a sense of being abandoned when I needed him the most. And the fact that he hit my mother and that, yes, he has been made to look like a one-sided character in a B-movie plot. But then, what on Earth would have influenced me so much as to write in my Year 2 or Year 3 book that I disliked my father? I can't believe that my teacher didn't even bloody censor it. I've thrown almost everything out but have kept that for when I get my eureka moment.
But you see, there are two completely conflicting sides about what happened in the 11 years they were married. And I can't bloody sit them down in a room and ask them to tell me the truth. And I can't trust my memory, seeing as I have quite effectively repressed or denied all happenings. All I want to know is what happened, why it happened and how can I overcome this gaping sense of loss, this screaming hole in my being, the missing pieces of me that are making me feel like dying.
Sarah used the word epiphany last week. Although she misspelled it. I forgot to mention it. Another sign that I should stop underestimating her and prejudging her. I don't know jack about her or her life, anyway.
God, I feel so miserable and lonely. So lonely. I feel forsaken. I know God hasn't because I love him so much and He loves me more. In spite of the fact that I can't pray. I'm sure He loves me. I could not bear it if He were to forsake me. I'm crying right now. I can't read my books. I can't prepare food. I can't eat properly. I can't leave the house by myself. I can't feel contented or happy. I am doomed to a melancholic life; and it's too much to handle.
When I was younger, I could imagine myself all alone, in a house or flat, being happy by myself. And now? Hormones and reality have kicked in. I desperately need my husband, my lover, my soul. I need friends and they seem so far away or whatever. I need a sibling, who is dead. I need roots, which I have effectively chopped away, because they were quite shallow. I need a mother, who never was all I wanted or needed. And that takes up too much emotional effort to analyse, so I repress or deny. My dad blows hot and cold. He abandoned me for so long.
I want to possess but have nothing. I want security, but can't trust. I hate myself. What hope is there?
I am never going to be able to write anything of any consequence. Dennis and Punt are geniuses. Mitchell and Webb are great. Why are they all so smart and I so dumb? Bloody sanguines.
This is such a depressing post.